Page 19 of Yours Always (The Enduring Hearts #1)

She poured her tea, then, after a beat of hesitation, settled into the chair across from him. “You know the Duke well, don’t you?” she asked, tone light but too even and measured. Matthew stilled, his thumb brushing the rim of his cup.

Of all the subjects to rise between them, this was the last one he wanted. But she was here, close, calm, almost easy with him again, and he couldn’t bear to push her away. He leaned back, resting one hand on the table. “Aye,” he said after a pause. “From Eton. He was two years ahead.”

Sarah traced the rim of her teacup, watching the steam curl upward.

“Was he always so serious?” A soft huff escaped him.

“That’s one word for it. He can’t be faulted, though.

” He should’ve stopped there, but the quiet between them wasn’t uncomfortable, it was expectant, and she was listening. So Matthew simply kept talking.

“He was twelve when his father passed. A few months later his cousins and uncle, the late Duke of Kenswick, were lost in a terrible accident.” Matthew’s voice was quiet, steady.

“He was still just a child, and suddenly heir to a title he was never meant to inherit.” Sarah stilled.

“I hadn’t realized he had been so young. ..”

Matthew nodded. “His family steward managed things until he came of age, but the moment he turned eighteen he stepped in and took on everything. Most thought he’d falter. He was too young, too far removed… but he didn’t. Every inch of the man he is now he earned.”

Her gaze drifted as if she was lost in thought. “I just thought he was...” she trailed off. “Guarded,” Matthew offered. His voice had softened too. She nodded. “Proper. But kind.”

“He is,” Matthew agreed. “And loyal to a fault. Lifelong friends with Oliver Blackburn, and he’s never once tried to drown him.” That pulled a laugh from her, quiet but real, even if it didn’t linger.

Then, as the moment slipped into silence, the words escaped before he could stop them, “He is one of the best men I have ever known.” Matthew wasn’t sure why he’d said it.

Maybe because it was true. Maybe because admitting it aloud felt like some small surrender; acknowledging the worth of the man she might choose.

Sarah stirred her tea, the spoon catching the light.

“He is certainly more substantial than I expected.” Matthew’s brow lifted, but the smile that ghosted across his lips didn’t quite reach his chest. “Substantial?” he echoed.

She flushed. “I only meant that he looks more like a bare- knuckle boxer than a duke. Broad shoulders. Strong build. I just didn’t expect that. ”

Something twisted low in his chest. He looked down at his tea.

“That’s fair,” he said, forcing lightness.

“He rowed at Eton. Still does, I believe, when the weight of everything becomes too much.” The words kept tumbling, faster now, anything to fill the silence and keep him from sitting with his own thoughts.

“The other boys claimed he wasn’t built for titles, but for snapping oars and splitting shirt seams.”

He knew he’d said too much, but Sarah’s gaze didn’t waver, she remained steady and quiet, wholly unlike the way she had looked at him the day before. Her lips curved slightly, amusement dancing in her eyes. "That explains a lot."

Matthew exhaled something between a breath and a laugh, but it lacked conviction.

Then, before he could stop himself, the words were already leaving his mouth, uninvited and far too revealing.

“So,” he murmured, tone not quite light enough to pass for teasing, “you’ve been admiring His Grace’s arms? ”

He meant it as a joke, but it hit the air too hard and edged with something he hadn’t meant to show.

Sarah’s teacup paused halfway to her lips.

She didn’t look at him. “I was merely observing,” she said, too soft and too quick.

“Observing quite intently, it would seem,” he replied, the edge of what was unspoken slipped through despite his careful tone.

She didn’t answer right away. Her lashes lowered as she lifted her tea to her lips. “Let us not pretend” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the rim of the cup, “That you have been overlooked in that respect” Matthew nearly choked on his own tea.

For a split second, he thought he’d imagined it until he saw the color rise in her cheeks and the faint wince, like she wanted to swallow the words back whole.

He should’ve laughed. Should’ve turned it into another joke.

But he couldn’t. Not when his pulse was thundering, the lightness in his chest felt too close to something dangerous, and the air between them had shifted.

“Miss Weston,” he said, trying to sound amused, though his voice was too low, too rough. “Are you accusing me of being broad of shoulder and admirable of form?” She groaned, mortified. “I never should have left my bed.”

“No, no,” he said, the corner of his mouth curving. “Please continue. I’m utterly fascinated by your observations.” She glared at him over the rim of her cup. “You are impossible.”

“You say that like it’s a burden,” he muttered. “And yet, you are still here.” Their eyes met and the silence stretched, but it was no longer awkward. Not entirely. It was new.

“Matthew...” Sarah started, then faltered.

“Why have you not...?” She hesitated, carefully choosing her words, or perhaps still deciding if she ought to speak them at all.

“You’ve never seemed interested in courting, or settling down.

” Matthew’s smile dimmed, the familiar teasing slipping from his face.

“You must know how women look at you…” she added, pressing on now, emboldened by something he couldn’t see.

“At every dinner and ball, they are tripping over themselves just to catch a glimpse of you.” Matthew tried to steer the conversation back into more pleasant waters, to shake off the sudden weight pressing between them.

“Because I’m as handsome as I am broad?”

“Matthew.” Her voice was sharper now, undercut with something earnest. Something vulnerable. He exhaled through his nose, a short breath meant to buy time, and lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “To be honest...I hardly notice.”

“You hardly encourage it either,” she pressed, her brow drawn with concern.

He paused. Just long enough for the silence to settle between them.

“I never saw the point,” he said finally, the words dull and distant, like they’d been buried too long.

Sarah frowned, clearly not expecting that.

“You could have had any number of admirers. A dozen women would have married you happily.”

Matthew’s eyes dropped to the table, his thumb dragging along the rim of his teacup, tracing the same worn path again and again. “I never saw the point…” he repeated, softer now. “...because when a man’s heart is already spoken for, he doesn’t waste time pretending he wants something else.”

When he looked up she was staring at him, her expression unreadable.

Somehow, that silence undid him more than any response could have.

When she finally spoke her voice was slow and measured.

“You loved someone?” Matthew nodded once.

“I do,” he said not with hesitation, but with quiet finality. Not a memory. Not a regret. A truth.

“I am in love,” he added, the words leaving him like a breath he’d been holding for years. “I have been for a very long time.” She looked away then, down toward the floor, lashes lowered like a shield. “And you never told her?”

“I am afraid I missed my chance.” He leaned forward, not out of boldness, but because the weight of it had finally become unbearable.

It wasn’t a grand gesture. It wasn’t planned.

It was survival. The truth and a hundred almost confessions pressed against his ribs like they had for years, begging for air.

“I didn’t tell her,” he said quietly, “because I thought I had more time. I thought if I waited long enough, she might see me, not as a friend or a familiar face, but just me.” The silence that followed was sharp, breathless.

Sarah’s fingers curled tightly around her teacup, white-knuckled.

Her face remained calm, composed, but something about her stillness felt too forced. She still hadn’t looked at him.

“Lizzy...” he said softly. The words hovered on the edge of his tongue, real, trembling, and ready.

For the first time, he knew he wanted to say them.

He needed to say them. Before he could, Sarah stood suddenly, the legs of her chair scraped against the rug nearly toppling as she pushed away from the table.

“Matthew, please.” Her voice was sharp and defensive in a way that didn’t match her tone a moment ago.

Matthew froze. Her face was composed, like someone trying to close a door that had accidentally opened too far.

In an instant, he understood. She didn’t want to hear it.

She didn’t want the weight of what he was about to say. Not now. Maybe not ever.

The realization landed like a stone in his chest. He swallowed, his throat tight.

He sat back slowly, hands resting loosely on his knees as he forced the words down where they’d always lived, in silence.

“I should check on the horses,” he said at last, the words quieter than before.

“They need to be ready once Benjamin wakes.”

Sarah gave a slight nod, her eyes fixed on her teacup. He hesitated at the door, just once, but she didn’t look up. So he walked away. Each step felt heavier than the last.

______________________

The moment his footsteps faded, the silence closed in. Sarah stood motionless, fingers still clenched around her teacup. The porcelain felt too delicate, her breath too shallow. She stared at the swirling tea leaves, willing the ache behind her ribs to ease.

She had stopped him. She’d silenced the very words that had haunted her dreams for years, and he had looked completely undone.

Not visibly, and not to anyone else, but she knew him too well.

The set of his jaw, the quiet in his eyes, it was pain.

She pressed her fingers to her lips, trying to breathe. He was in love. Just not with her.

“I was afraid I missed my chance.” She had heard the truth in it, and somehow she’d managed to be surprised. She had been foolish. She’d let herself believe that the glances, the nearness, and the warmth in his voice had meant something, but it had always been Mary.

He loved her, and he had lost her.

Sarah had been the girl who watched him grieve.

She set the teacup down with trembling fingers and crossed to the window.

The sunlight spilled across the garden path.

In the distance, the stables stood quiet, the roof glinting faintly.

She imagined him there, sleeves rolled, brushing down his horse, trying to outrun the conversation he hadn’t finished.

She knew him better than anyone, and somehow, she hadn’t known his heart.

The ache rose sharp in her throat, twisting tighter when she realized what sat beneath it. Shame. Some part of her, quiet, stubborn, and buried, had wanted him to say her own name. Had hoped. Had dreamed.

The door creaked open and Benjamin stepped inside wearing a weightless smile, blissfully unaware of how heavy her heart had become.

“Morning, Lizzy. You haven’t seen Matty, have you?

He was supposed to meet me.” Sarah didn’t turn to greet him.

“He left.” Benjamin paused, noting her clipped tone. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m fine.”

He blinked. “You look as though you want to set fire to the drapes.”

She turned slowly, her chin high. “I said I am fine.”

Benjamin studied her, eyes narrowing. “Did something happen?”

“No.” Sharper now. He glanced at Matthew’s abandoned teacup, then at her flushed cheeks. “Did he go to the stables?”

“Where else would he go?” A beat of silence.

“Liz,” Benjamin said gently, “did something happen between the two of you?”

“No,” she said again. “Please stop asking.”

Benjamin raised both hands in surrender. “Alright.” He hesitated. “I will find him myself.” He lingered in the doorway. His voice was quiet this time. “You don’t have to tell me what happened, but you don’t have to carry it alone either.”

He left and shut the door behind him with a softness that felt final, and Sarah stood alone in the echo. She didn’t know what this was, not fully, but it felt dangerously close to heartbreak.